


Human Touch

by LisaLu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s09e09 Holy Terror, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaLu/pseuds/LisaLu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel travels to the bunker after Dean prays to him and has problems adapting to his newly stolen grace. He knows he can't heal, but hopes he can help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Touch

Yesterday the light vibrations of the bus would’ve lulled Castiel to sleep, but his body no longer demands it. It no longer demands anything. Past his own reflection in the window the scenery flashes before his eyes. Without consciously taking in any of it he can still sense all the blades of grass and the pebbles and their relative distance to the sun. Over the buzzing engine of the Greyhound Castiel can hear a creek flowing 5 miles out in the mountains. The distant sounds of water crashing against rock could be deafening if he wanted to, but a constant stream of _Please, Cas. Please._ is all he can focus on. The voice fills his head to the brim, pleading and praying for help that Cas knows he won’t be able to deliver. He doesn’t need to breathe now, but his chest still feels uncomfortably tight as if all oxygen was removed from the air. _Dean._

The bus travels at a steady 60 mph, but it’s not enough. Castiel wants to fly. He wants to materialize. He wants to answer to this prayer with power in his fingertips and a flash of light. But he can’t and it’s eating at him. He never thought that being an angel without wings would make him feel more powerless than being human did. 

Castiel knows he won’t be able to bring Kevin back in this state and he won’t be able to fix Sam, but he will be able to bring himself back home for now. _Back home._ The grace inhabiting his body - his vessel- can’t stop his heart from beating faster at the thought alone. He might be thrown out again when it turns out that he can’t exactly perform a miracle with this stolen grace swirling around in an ill-fitting body, but he needs to try. He hopes for a little miracle of his own that’ll make him useful again. Wanting to be useful has never felt more selfish. 

Hours pass before the bus pulls to a stop and Castiel hitches a ride that gets him close enough to the bunker to run the rest of the way. His body doesn’t tire and running is much quicker, but he is aware of the stares people are giving him; an adult male with a bloodstained suit running like he’s got the devil on his heels. Of course that’s not true, but it _is_ kind of suspicious. 

Time flows strangely for angels like Castiel, so sooner and later than he expected he stands in front of the bunker. He hasn’t heard Dean’s prayers for over an hour now. Worry sets in reflexively, but it crashes and clashes with the grace inside of him and leaves him with an unpleasant taste in his mouth. He swallows it down and knocks. 

Dean opens the door with weary eyes barely registering what’s in front of him. Castiel wonders if he should hug him. He doesn’t know so he doesn’t. Dean steps aside. His movements are slower than usual; his body is barely holding up. The smell of burnt flesh fills Castiel’s nose when he steps inside. He just knows the smell would have made him nauseous before, but now it registers on the same level as the number of blades of grass in a field or stars in the sky. It doesn’t stop the grief however. Kevin is dead; the prophet is dead. The disconnect between the scale on which he can perceive the world and the emotion felt for relatively tiny specks within the universe’s existence is nothing new. But with this foreign grace inside of him the gap grows even wider. He misses Kevin, he worries about Sam, and he cares so much about Dean. But the earth is rotating at 1.038 mph at the equator, a war between angels is raging, and stars are dying one by one. 

He thought that taking his brother’s grace would sharpen his senses and dull his needs. That it would make him feel as if things could finally be right again. But when seeing Dean hunched over and physically exhausted from emotional stress Castiel has never felt more _wrong_. 

His body remembers comforting touches, his soul remembers empathy and emotions, but this grace – not his own- it hasn’t even loved. It was made for obedience, it was made for servitude. It hasn’t been shaped by years of brothers that love so fiercely they can end and save the world with it. So easy was it to forget how Sam and Dean had transformed him deep down to the core of his being. They had molded his angelic energy into the shape of something that was almost human wherever it could be. 

Castiel sits down on the couch next to Dean, who is still staring down at his own hands. Dean is all out of words. He doesn’t even ask Castiel if he can fix it, because there is a dreary hopelessness in his eyes that tells more than his words possibly could at that moment. 

Silence hugs them like a blanket that gives no warmth. For a moment Castiel doesn’t feel grace obstructing him and the rush of emotions grab a hold of him. A split second of pure empathy and it’s over. His body, his soul, this foreign grace; there’s a war waging inside of him and he’s not even able to fight on the front lines. He briefly wonders if this is what being chained to a comet means. 

It’s all messed up. Cas feels lightheaded and dizzy – but he’s an angel and shouldn’t be feeling any of that- or is he? This is not what being an angel means. This is not a conflict he wants anymore. He doesn’t want to regress to what he was before that fateful day he pulled Dean out of hell and everything was set in motion. He doesn’t want to be _an_ angel, he wants to be Castiel. He wants to be _Cas_. 

“Dean…” Cas finally breaks the silence. He doesn’t think he can say anything else. 

Dean looks at him with reddened eyes full of exhaustion. They look different like this, soul beaten and raw behind them. 

Cas wants to reach out and heal. It’s an impulse, almost an instinct. He wants to make things better. If he still had his own grace maybe he could help with Sam. Maybe he could bring Kevin back. If only. Dean wouldn’t have had to make the choices he did. Sam would be here. Kevin would be here. 

Although his touch won’t change anything he still reaches out. Cas’ places his hand on the rough denim on Dean’s knee. It’s not a healing touch, but he hopes it to be one of comfort. If he can’t be helpful in the way that he thinks matters the most, then at least he can try to do what he still can. 

Fabric rustles and warmth encloses Cas’ hand. Dean’s thumb strokes barely noticeable circles. The simple pressure of skin against skin makes Cas feel like he has finally touched down after a wingless flight. It’s strange; almost as if he’s more himself than ever since he lost his grace. 

They shuffle closer together until Dean’s head rests lightly on Cas’ shoulder. Cas doesn’t know if he is comforting Dean or if Dean is comforting him. Maybe it’s mutual. After all, caring too much and carrying too many burdens fucked them both up. It made them both fuck up. 

Shared body warmth under this blanket of silence does nothing to solve their problems, but maybe it does help in some way. They are both tired and it only takes minutes before a light snoring sound comes from the man pressed up against his shoulder. Cas almost feels like he could sleep too. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Cas struggling with his identity after taking on his brother's grace. No idea if the show is going to address any of this, but I wanted to explore it a little.


End file.
